


Five More Lives That Might've Been

by BeastOfTheSea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Five [X] That Didn't Happen format, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastOfTheSea/pseuds/BeastOfTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s amazing, how much in the world is left up to chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five More Lives That Might've Been

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I'm still not J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Also, to The Hand readers – I’m working on the second chapter. I’m sorry about the delay, but I’ve been caught between sickness and schoolwork for several weeks, and am trying to catch up. Thanks for your patience.

**1.**

Harry folded up the latest newspaper, shaking his head.

 

“I’ve got to say, I don’t know how Neville went so wrong,” his mother said crossly. “It’s not like he fell in with Slytherins–”

 

“Healthy teenage rebellion gone awry,” his father proclaimed, planting his glass of Butterbeer on the table. “I should know – Your mother will tell you all about mine, and how she reformed the bad boy-”

 

“You’re still not reformed!”

 

A period of uncomfortably affectionate tussling followed, and Harry looked away before the middle-aged romance disturbed him too much; his gaze landed on the paper, and he shook his head. It amazed him that smart people believed any of the rot the Daily Prophet poured out.

 

He’d offered help to Neville himself, though not publicly; he’d learned the value of secrecy young, when his personality had been too different from his father’s to meet the man’s approval and too similar to his mother’s to ever keep peace in the family. So he played the part of the affable Potter heir, openly simple-souled and stout-hearted, while under the surface he remained the boy who’d nearly broken down in tears during that terrifying minute when the Hat had considered him for Slytherin.

 

And, likewise, the supposedly spoiled, crybaby Boy-Who-Lived was everything in reality that Harry was in illusion; his weakness was that he had no idea how to project a falsely perfect image and not even half an idea on how to see through those of others. Tormented by crippling migraines and horrific visions, he staggered through life as best he could, but not well enough to satisfy the jeering crowds around him. They wanted a paragon – he offered them the best a boy could do, but they were not satisfied with a mere boy.

 

It made Harry twistedly amused to think that the Wizarding world would have been delighted if they had been granted a “savior” like Tom Riddle. It just made him depressed to consider that he might have hit upon the reason for Riddle’s rise to power in the first place.

 

Poor Neville.

 

Harry wouldn’t have been the Boy-Who-Lived for the world.

 

**2.**

The Second Serpent Lord straightened his robe, making his ritual preparations for another day at the Ministry.

 

He’d come a long way from that bewildered boy in Madame Malkin’s who hadn’t even known about Quidditch. Bewildered and poorly-socialized, at that – to think he’d nearly brushed off a potential ally over a few ill-considered remarks! The thought of what would have followed, had a chance remark not saved him, made him wince. He would have remained a naïve child, not even beginning to gather an understanding of his position in the Wizarding world and his unique gifts, and probably acted as clumsily and irresponsibly as any uninitiated Muggleborn.

 

The path that logically followed – the victory of Quirrel, Riddle, Pettigrew, Lestrange, or any of Voldemort’s other puppets, and Voldemort’s new advent – made him too nauseated to even consider. He allowed Voldemort the title of First Serpent Lord because he intended for the man never to return to use it. He wouldn’t allow that beast a _thimble_ if he thought the monster could turn it to his own ends.

 

Thank Salazar he hadn’t, then. Thank Salazar that he’d learned the power of his own position, and the notoriety of the particular gift he possessed, before he’d gone very far at all.

 

Thank Salazar that he’d ascended to the long-vacant throne of Salazar’s heir – even if he had no direct descent from the man himself. Thank Salazar that he had the allies to enable him to keep it. Thank Salazar that those same allies warned him against those who would control him, the Dumbledores and Scrimgeours and Fudges of the world, and been in awe enough of his talent that they had not dared to place chains upon him once he had come into his own. Thank Salazar that he had been lifted out of his ignorance, thank Salazar that he had not gone on blindly, as cheerfully ignorant of world affairs as any of Rubeus Hagrid’s pets…

 

Thank Salazar that he had mentioned casually to Draco Malfoy that one of his pieces of accidental magic had been talking to a snake.

 

**3.**

“With what’s in the Prophet – d’you think – Do you think Albus’s entire gambit was to train me up as the Chosen One, and that’s why–”

 

“You know how prophecies work?”

 

Harry stopped, blinking. “Er… I thought so.”

 

“Doesn’t matter what you do – the events foretold come to pass.” Ab rubbed his forehead. “If there was really a boy with the power “the Dark Lord knows not”, he would exist no matter what mad scheme Albus devised. And after that diary the Weasley kids handed me, I’ve got to say – the way he was having you raised, you wouldn’t have any _power_ Riddle didn’t already know.” A surge of disgust crossed his face, and he turned his head to spit on the floor.

 

“But do you think Albus was trying to make me into the Chosen One?”

 

Ab gave a bitter snort. “You think there would be a ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ if not for Albus? All he had to say was that your mother’s love – and maybe more than that; I know better than anyone what parents can manage when their kid’s life is at stake, and Albus ought to too – saved you, and there’d be none of this rot about how you’re really the next Dark Lord, or the most powerful wizard in all England, or any of that bilge the Prophet loves.” A shadow passed through his eyes. “Not that it matters,” he said, half to himself. “‘Most powerful’… Ha… Ariana was bound to have been the most powerful witch in England, by the end, and all it did for her…” Some of the strength went out of his shoulders, and his gaze strayed to where he kept the Firewhiskey.

 

Harry interrupted, feeling guilty, “So what’s he up to? I know Albus’s a lifelong coward, but even he can’t be crazy enough to hide behind a kid – And he couldn’t have seriously thought I’d be able to beat Riddle, when even he’d failed – What was he _thinking_?”

 

Ab shook his head, seeming to come back to himself a little, and tapped his fingers on the table. “I think it’s got something to do with your tie to Riddle,” he said. “Something made him decide, in that day between Riddle going poof and your showing up on those bastards’ doorstep, that the word ought to spread about the toddler who’d saved them all.” His eyes narrowed as he stared off to the side, and his forehead creased in thought. “I don’t think he ever really meant to have you _beat_ Riddle – though I’m not denying that’s what he’d want it to look like. I think he intended to use you to do _something_ – I don’t know what – to take away Riddle’s invulnerability, and then get rid of him himself. And tell everyone you’d done it – _at a great cost_ , of course. He’d need some way to explain what was left of you.”

 

“But – that _something_ – did we foil that, then?” Fear shot through Harry. “If that’s the only way to get rid of Riddle –”

 

“If you think my brother knows what he’s doing, you haven’t been listening these last seven years,” Ab snapped. “He gets it into his head that he’s the great Albus Dumbledore, and he’s got a wonderful plan that will make everything right – and if a few people happen to _die_ in the process, why, they’re just sacrifices _for the greater good_.” He sat back, shaking his head and scowling. “Look,” he said after a few seconds. “All I know is that my plan ends up with you alive. His probably wouldn’t. That’s what matters to me.”

 

Harry looked down at the table for a long time. “Do you think,” he said eventually, “that Albus might be persuaded to reveal a bit of his grand scheme to destroy Riddle to the Order, now that he’s got it back together again?”

 

Ab snorted. “We’d be better off trying to figure out just _what_ you are to Riddle, and reconstructing what my brother’s scheme would look like if he wasn’t cracked in the head from there. He never explains his plans until he can crow about them _after_ the fact.”

 

Harry nodded, his stomach sinking, and stood up, looking into the sputtering flames beneath the mantelpiece. “And – what do we do if everything fails, and – Riddle can’t be vanquished?”

 

“Then we grab everyone we can and run.” Ab looked at him levelly. “Grindelwald looked like he couldn’t be beat back in the forties, too – nobody in his empire could manage it, anyway. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But he fell in the end.” He shrugged. “Who knows? You might not even be the kid in the prophecy. Maybe some couple who defied Riddle thrice decided to scarper off to Austraila and had a kid with the same birthday as you, and Riddle’s going to get a nasty shock when he tries to retake that place for the British Empire. Or some Indian Dark Lord’s going to serve him his head on a platter when he decides to go naga-hunting, and it’ll turn out there was no point to the prophecy after all.

 

“However it happens, kid – we’ll have to stay alive until then. And as many people as we can manage will have to, too. And that’s all that’ll manner.”  

 

**4.**

Harry gave the statue of Headmaster Voldemort a sullen glare as he walked past it on his way to his next class; he really had to wonder if the Headmaster took Lord Dumbledore’s decrees seriously at all, or if he thought he’d never face any repercussions for incessant lionization of his own House and outright persecution of the rest. And that wasn’t even mentioning his covert discrimination against the New Wizards…

 

Something had to be done. The most extreme amongst the students were quietly considering a revolt – even knowing that their great and terrible Lords used any force necessary to put down rebellions of any sort, lest they spread and ignite a wildfire. At least then there would be a chance that Headmaster Voldemort would be disciplined harshly in the ensuing tightening of security, as the Lady Ariana had infamously done in the aftermath of the Guerilla Revolt of 1981.

 

He wished Lord Dumbledore directly controlled Hogwarts, the way Lord Grindelwald did Durmstrang. Perhaps, if Voldemort understood that he was a mere proxy for his glorious master, he would govern with more care and restraint – if for no other reason than Lord Dumbledore’s cheery willingness to replace incompetent underlings with more competent administrators and quietly erase the failures from all records and public memories. The Headmaster feared Lord Dumbledore and the Lady Ariana – all England knew that – and if only Lord Dumbledore would make it clear to him just how much was on the line…

 

Well, there was no use wishing. He could only hope that the Lady Ariana would catch wind of what was going on, and retaliate as only she knew how.

 

Merlin knew a student like him couldn’t hope to do anything against Voldemort.

 

**5.**

A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Sssuch exceptional talent, at ssso young an age,” the hissing voice mused.

 

Harry gave the twitching Order member one last look of disdain, then turned to look into the eyes of his Lord. “It’s nothing, really,” he said diffidently. “I just – got inspired by what you could do, Master.”

 

The Dark Lord’s thin lips curled into a smile. “Indeed. You learned well from my tutelage… and from that of your youth.”

 

Involuntarily, Harry jerked away, and his mouth twisted into a snarl – The mere memory of those Muggles made him itch to take it out on something, _anything_ , to dispel the crushing memories of helplessness and humiliation. Several seconds later, when he came back to himself, he blanched and bowed at the waist to his Lord. “I – I’m sorry, Master – my wits deserted me –”

 

The Dark Lord only smirked in response, and Harry suppressed the stab of anger at knowing his Lord had deliberately provoked him. It was a tactic his Lord used to keep all his servants in line, he reminded himself; a strike at the deepest injury in a wizard’s soul, effectively performed, could be as potent as a Cruciatus. If anything, he should admire his Lord’s skill and cleverness.

 

Even if he hated it.

 

He had no right to hate it, of course – His Lord treated him second only to Bellatrix, Lucius, and Severus, and that only because that trio had earned their positions as the most honored of Death Eaters, while he himself was but a callow youth. His own position derived from an accident of birth and prophecy, and he had barely begun to do anything towards earning it through his own talents. Furthermore, that entirely aside, he owed his Lord.

 

He owed him dearly.

 

So he turned back to the Order member and cocked his head, burying his internal whining under consideration of the fool’s next torment. “What do you think of a use of the _Sectumsempra_ curse, my Lord?”

 

“Sssuch crudenesss? I consssidered you more of an artissst.”

 

“You flatter me, my Lord. But I wasn’t thinking of a long, deep gash of the sort Snape deploys in battle – rather, surgical cuts along certain nerves, which would serve to –”

 

“H-Harry – don’t –” The hapless fool – some “Remus Lupin” by name – choked, turning beseeching amber eyes up to Harry. “You’re better than this – I knew your parents, their son couldn’t –” He broke down in tears – _tears_ , honestly; it outright repulsed Harry, and he had to fight back a grimace. That was what came from sending a bunch of Light-headed idealists out to fight wars – They burst out in weeping and wailing at the least bit of ugliness. The whole lot probably would have hung themselves after five years with those Muggles. “I – Harry, you were supposed to be the _Chosen One_ – How could you –”

 

“Look, I don’t know what Dumbledore told you,” Harry said, lowering his wand to point at the Order member’s face, “but as far as I know, the prophecy only said that I _could_ vanquish the Dark Lord. Not that I’d want to.”

 

_Sectumsempra!_


End file.
